fratas

I'll fall for you soon enough

[Rosvolio, also on ao3]


Benvolio knew but very little about his soon-to-be wife. But one thing he did know was this: she was a proud woman, and asking did not come easily to her.

So when Rosaline Capulet asked something of him, he listened.

Rosaline had stayed sullenly quiet on most matters concerning their impending marriage, mostly speaking up on aspects that concerned her sister in some way. Whenever they met with a variety of representatives of both their houses to plan this practical aspect of the ceremony or that, she seemed wholly disinterested in the topic, and only reluctantly involved herself if pressed to do so.

But when her uncle brought her to the Montagues’ family seat for one such afternoon of planning, her usual withdrawn behaviour seemed tinted with uncharacteristic trepidation, and when Benvolio offered his arm to lead her up the stairs, her grip was far too tight to be considered proper on a woman who had been raised a lady.

At first, he only took note of her distraction to escape the boredom of listening to their uncles try to outdo each other with tales of their business acumen. But the longer Benvolio watched his betrothed, the more intrigued he became.

All morning, Benvolio kept finding proof that something was wrong with Rosaline. She seemed tense, skittish, barely managed to stay in her seat as her eyes frantically dashed around the room, jumping from one lower member of his house to the next. She tried to hide it, of course, not one to easily bare her vulnerabilities, but when the gates opened downstairs to let in a whole group of Montague men, freshly returned from a ride out with their horses, she actually flinched at the sound of their boisterous laughter, and her already strenuous grip on her cup of sweetened wine tightened even more.

It was only once the heads of their two houses had declared it time for a break that he found out what was behind her sullen mood.

After a light luncheon, Lord Montague invited them all to come see the new statue gallery recently installed in the inner courtyard, one of the largest and finest collections of contemporary art in the city. His uncle’s claim, though no doubt stated mostly for Lord Capulet’s benefit, was true, Benvolio knew: The gallery boasted statues by the most talented and original artists of the day, and Benvolio, the only one in the family with an eye for the arts, had made sure they were arranged in such a way as to best display their individual beauty.

It was this part of the house they were headed to now, and with Lord Montague busy watching Lord Capulet for signs of displeasure at being thus upstaged, and Lord Capulet determined not to show any such sign, it was easy enough to pull his bride away from the central aisle and towards a small stone bench set between two statues.

“You are unusually quiet this morning, Capulet.“

They had gradually come to be on friendlier terms, but not so much as to make him actually call her by her given name - though the privilege would by rights be his, since they had been engaged for some weeks now. He had, he thought, made a valiant effort to hate her, as the bloody tradition of their families and his own bruised pride demanded. For a brief moment after Romeo’s death, he had even attempted to blame her for it somehow - but then, he was just as much to blame for the tragedy that had ripped away their houses’ heirs.

But Benvolio had never been a man to whom hatred and resentment came easily, and smart, headstrong Rosaline was a difficult woman to hate. He may bristle at the way she turned up her nose at him, may feel the urge to take her down a peg or two with a well-aimed barb from time to time. But now, two months into their engagement, he only antagonized her for sport, and his jabs were merely meant to sting, not wound.

Now, Rosaline showed once more that candidness he had admired, even envied in her before: She neither tried to evade his question nor to deny his observation, but came straight out with her answer.

“I have a favour to ask of you.“

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ELI5: What's the difference between an Ave, Rd, St, Ln, Dr, Way, Pl, Blvd etc. and how is it decided which road is what?

Everything I found here is either rephrased from an urban planning textbook, wikipedia, or googles define function, I never claimed to be an expert on anything, what I gave here is essentially the most common occuring definition I could find, but many are used interchangeably, how a word is used in vernacular does not change an accepted definition.

A road has no special qualifiers. It connects point a to point b.
A street connects buildings together, usually in a city, usually east to west, opposite of avenue.
An avenue runs north south. Avenues and streets may be used interchangeably for directions, usually has median
A boulevard is a street with trees down the middle or on both sides
A lane is a narrow street usually lacking a median.
A drive is a private, winding road
A way is a small out of the way road
a court usually ends in a cul de sac or similar little loop
a plaza or square is usually a wide open space, but in modern definitons, one of the above probably fits better for a plaza as a road.
a terrace is a raised flat area around a building. When used for a road it probably better fits one of the above.
uk, a close is similar to a court, a short road serving a few houses, may have cul de sac
run is usually located near a stream or other small body of water
place is similar to a court, or close, usually a short skinny dead end road, with or without cul de sac, sometimes p shaped
bay is a small road where both ends link to the same connecting road
crescent is a windy s like shape, or just a crescent shape, for the record, above definition of bay was also given to me for crescent
a trail is usually in or near a wooded area
mews is an old british way of saying row of stables, more modernly seperate houses surrounding a courtyard
a highway is a major public road, usually connecting multiple cities
a motorway is similar to a highway, with the term more common in New Zealand, the UK, and Austrailia, no stopping, no pedestrian or animal traffic allowed
an interstate is a highway system connecting usually connecting multiple states, although some exist with no connections
a turnpike is part of a highway, and usully has a toll, often located close to a city or commercial are
a freeway is part of a highway with 2 or more lanes on each side, no tolls, sometimes termed expressway, no intersections or cross streets.
a parkway is a major public road, usually decorated, sometimes part of a highway, has traffic lights.
a causeway combines roads and bridges, usually to cross a body of water
circuit and speedway are used interchangeably, usually refers to a racing course, practically probably something above.
as the name implies, garden is usually a well decorated small road, but probably better fits an above
a view is usually on a raised area of land, a hill or something similar.
byway is a minor road, usually a bit out of the way and not following main roads.
a cove is a narrow road, can be sheltered, usually near a larger body of water or mountains
a row is a street with a continuous line of close together houses on one or both sides, usually serving a specific function like a frat
a beltway is a highway surrounding an urban area
quay is a concrete platform running along water
crossing is where two roads meet
alley a narrow path or road between buildings, sometimes connects streets, not always driveable
point usually dead ends at a hill
pike usually a toll road
esplanade long open, level area, usually a walking path near the ocean
square open area where multiple streets meet, guess how its usually shaped.
landing usually near a dock or port, historically where boats drop goods.
walk historically a walking path or sidewalk, probably became a road later in its history
grove thickly sheltered by trees
copse a small grove
driveway almost always private, short, leading to a single residence or a few related ones
laneway uncommon, usually down a country road, itself a public road leading to multiple private driveways.
trace beaten path
circle usually circles around an area, but sometimes is like a “square”, an open place intersected by multiple roads.
channel usually near a water channel, the water itself connecting two larger bodies of water,
grange historically would have been a farmhouse or collection of houses on a farm, the road probably runs through what used to be a farm
park originally meaning an enclosed space, came to refer to an enclosed area of nature in a city, usually a well decorated road.
mill probably near an old flour mill or other mill.
spur similar to a byway, a smaller road branching off from a major road.
bypass passes around a populated area to divert traffic
roundabout or traffic circle circle around a traffic island with multiple connecting routes, a roundabout is usually smaller, with less room for crossing and passing, and safer
wynd a narrow lane between houses, similar to an alley, more common in UK
drive shortened form of driveway, not a driveway itself, usually in a neighborhood, connects several houses
parade wider than average road historically used as a parade ground.
terrace more common in uk, a row of houses.
chase on land historically used as private hunting grounds.
branch divides a road or area into multiple subdivisions.

These arent hard and fast rules. Most cities and such redefine them their own way about what road can be called what.

Why you drive on a parkway and park on a driveway parkway originally referred to the decorations along that particular road, not the state of the cars on it, its similarities to a park being obvious. driveways were orignally much longer than they are now, so you actually would drive on them.

Explain Like I`m Five: good questions, best answers.

Through the dark side of the morning

I got impatient waiting for the new episode, so I wrote a thing. It features poor bean Benvolio and Rosaline having a slow change of heart a little after their wedding and angsty fluff and slowly coming to understand each other. 

[also on ao3]


Who’s gonna walk you through the dark side of the morning?

Who’s gonna rock you when the sun won’t let you sleep?


Her husband was sneaking out again.

Rosaline heard the sound of his boots on the stairs, recognizable by the little spring in his step despite the heavy spurred boots, then a few murmured words to the guard at the door, and then the  door of their new home, a modest Palazzo near the river, creaked open to allow him out into the night.

For three weeks, Rosaline had been married to Benvolio of House Montague. And for three weeks, every night without fail, he had snuck out of the house. She would have suspected a sweetheart somewhere, a lover that had been torn from him in Escalus’ peace-making scheme. But the servants brought back only reports of him spending his time at the taverns around Via Frata, where he used to head for a night of revelry with his friends all too often before their deaths.

In truth, she did not care either way – was glad to have him out of the house, in fact, where grief and resentment seemed to poison the air around them whenever they were forced to spend time together. They kept up the facade of a reasonably content couple for the sake of their servants, many of whom were no doubt being paid to report back on their every move to either of their houses. They had lunch or supper in the garden together when Benvolio wasn’t called away for some duty or other, and dined together in the evening when they were not invited to some social gathering. They even slept in the same bed, though they hardly spent any shared time in there in any case. Rosaline usually went to bed early, for lack of anything to occupy her time now that she suddenly found herself mistress instead of serving girl, and by the time Benvolio returned from his exploits near dawn, reeking of wine, she was almost ready to get up again, still used to early mornings and enjoying the peace and quiet they brought.

But it was precisely the fact that they put so much effort into appearing a successful match that made it so irritating to see her husband pursue his own pleasure so shamelessly. What was the point of making stilted conversation at the dinner table and putting up with his snoring when all the servants talked about were his nightly adventures away from the marriage bed?

No, Rosaline decided, she was going to put a stop to this. She hadn’t abandoned her dream of retreating to a nunnery and living a life of her own choosing to wed this… toad, only for him to continue in his debauched ways as if nothing at all had changed.

She’d go after him and drag him back home by his ears like an unruly child if necessary – but she’d have to be careful about it. Their marriage may have forged a temporary peace between Verona’s warring families, but it was a fragile one, and one which too many people were dissatisfied with. Quickly, Rosaline dug out her old, modest servant’s dress from the bottom of her trunk and put it on in exchange for her much grander evening gown. Over it, she put on a dark brown cape, pulling its hood over her hair, then walked over to the bedroom door to peer out through the keyhole.

Unlike her husband, Rosaline had spent enough time at home to know what the staff were up to, and had learned that the guard tended to get a little drowsy around this time of night, at which point he would head to the kitchen to talk the cook into indulging him with a luxurious cup of caffè, an invigorating brew the merchants of Verona had recently started to import from Venice.

As soon as the guard set off for his refreshment, she slipped quietly down the stairs and out the door, momentarily reminded of the many times she had snuck out of her parents’ house years ago - though it had been to see a different man for different reasons back then, and it had been excitement making her blood race rather than anger.

But there was no use in such thoughts, she told herself, focusing instead on the street before her. Concealed by the wide sleeve of her cloak, she clutched a slim dagger - not much of a weapon, but better than nothing. Ever since her close encounter with a blood-thirsty ruffian in the street, she had taken to carrying the weapon with her, usually concealed in the folds of her dress. She had received unexpected help from her now-husband on that bloody day, but she would not allow herself to count on his protection in the future, even if she was now legally entitled to it.

But though her hand trembled around the dagger and she flinched every time she heard approaching footsteps, the trip was a quiet one, and soon Rosaline was making her way door to door down the few particularly infamous streets of the city, peering into taverns and brothels for a glimpse of her missing husband.

He would be easy enough to find, she expected, no doubt surrounded by a crowd of people, holding court and boasting of his heroic deeds, with an adoring woman on his lap perhaps. But to her surprise, he was alone, and her searching gaze almost passed over him before doubling back.

Tucked in the darkest corner of a particularly seedy establishment, Benvolio was peering forlornly into a half-empty, lead-rimmed glass beaker of rich red wine, looking for all the world as if he was trying to disappear into the dirty wall behind him.

And then she took a few steps closer and saw something that made her stop in her tracks as realisation dawned on her: Benvolio was not making merry, not carousing or whoring around.

He was grieving.

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